


Trouble Never Looked So Goddamn Fine

by lahdolphin



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiyoshi has a one-night stand and gets a lot more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble Never Looked So Goddamn Fine

"I don’t want to go to some seedy drag club to watch you grind your junk on stage for money!”

Hiyoshi said that an hour ago, yet here he is on a Friday night at a seedy drag club watching Mukahi grind his junk on stage for money. Hiyoshi looks away from the stage where Mukahi is dancing—god, when did Mukahi get _that_ flexible?—and turns to look at the bottles of liquor behind the bar he’s sitting at. The stools are uncomfortable, all the male dancers are dressed like women, and he’s not drunk enough for this.

He downs his shot of whiskey, waves the bartender over for another, and wonders if bleaching his eyes out will help erase the image of Mukahi in thigh-high stockings and six-inch heels that’s embedded itself into his brain.

“First time here?” the bartender asks, refilling Hiyoshi’s drink. Hiyoshi nods his head slightly, but doesn’t answer verbally. The bartender smiles. “If you need a break, I can show you to the employee bathrooms. You’re less likely to find, ah, these things there.”

 _These things_ , like his roommate doing a split on a pole without his junk falling out of that lacy thing between his legs. It’s not the act that bothers him—plenty of respectable, intelligent people like Mukahi strip for money—but the fact that he has to see it is going to be the death of him. Hiyoshi figured out Mukahi was a stripper awhile go when he kept paying for his share of the rent in small bills bound together by a rubber band. Hiyoshi doesn’t care what Mukahi does to get by. He just never wanted to see it.

Thank god for a tall, white-haired bartender who understands his pain.

“Are you here with someone?” the bartender asks.

“Yeah.” _The red head in heels on the pole._ “A friend.”

Hiyoshi downs his shot too quickly. The bartender smiles and refills his drink. Hiyoshi asks, “How’s my tab looking?” He must be four, maybe five drinks in by now.

“I was told you could buy whatever you want. Someone is covering your tab.”

“Who?”

“Him.” The bartender cocks his head. Hiyoshi looks down the bar and he sees a man lift his glass in acknowledgment. Hiyoshi has no idea who the hell that is. In the lighting, the man looks like a shadow. He’s attractive, young but strong, and Hiyoshi wonders if it’s the lights making his eyes glow that strange shade of green.

Oh hell no. He is not getting picked up at the club Mukahi works at.

This is not happening.

Hiyoshi sips at his drink, feeling more drunk than he was five minutes ago. The bartender leaves, smiling. Less than a minute later, there’s a man leaning against the bar next to him, pressed too close to Hiyoshi for the action to be anything but sexual. The stranger radiates heat.

“You look like you want to rip your eyes out,” the man says. “You’re welcome for picking up your tab, by the way. You don’t look like you could afford this place.”

Hiyoshi sneers. “What, have you been watching me?”

“Yes.” The man has no shame. “Trust me, I’m not the only one staring at you.”

Hiyoshi swirls the drink in his glass, debating whether to ignore this guy or indulge him.

“I’m Akaya. What’s your name?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

He doesn’t know why he says it, but he does, “Hiyoshi.”

“Just your last name?” Akaya, if that’s even his real name, smiles. He fingers at the rim of Hiyoshi’s drink. “That’s fine. I get it. This isn’t your kind of place and I’m a little too forward.”

“‘A little’ is an understatement.”

Akaya laughs. “I like you. You’re funny.”

“Are you seriously hitting on me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

Hiyoshi gets a good look at this guy. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but Hiyoshi doubts that anyone would ever call Akaya unattractive. There’s something about the way he holds himself, the way his curly hair just barely falls over his green eyes, and the way he smiles at Hiyoshi that makes him easy on the eyes.

“It’s Wakashi.”

“Wakashi,” Akaya says, letting the name roll off his tongue. He grins deviously. Hiyoshi can’t look away from his eyes. “I like it.”

Fuck it. He’s drunk and Akaya’s hot.

“So, Akaya,” Hiyoshi says. He downs his drink in one go, then sets the glass down and pushes it away. “Are you going to take me home or not?”

Hiyoshi leaves the club after writing a note to Mukahi on a napkin and passing it to the bartender, telling him to give it to Moon when he’s done on stage. Akaya drives a sporty black motorcycle that looks like a death trap and is parked in the garage down the street, the same one Mukahi is parked in. Hiyoshi watches Akaya put on a leather jacket and a helmet.

“Are you staring at me?” Akaya asks, shaking his hips a little.

Hiyoshi takes one from Akaya’s book. “Yes.”

Akaya grins, hands him a spare helmet, and tells him to hold on tight. Hiyoshi squeezes his arms around Akaya’s waist and doesn’t bother hiding that he’s half-hard in his jeans. Hiyoshi is aware that Akaya could be a serial killer or a sadistic bastard, and that he may end up dead in a ditch come morning, or in the hospital with some weird rash, but Akaya accelerates around a sharp turn and feels warm in Hiyoshi’s embrace and it’s probably worth the risk.

They park in another sketchy garage behind a series of cheap apartments and take the elevator to the sixth floor. Once they’re through the door, Akaya spins around and slams him into it, covering Hiyoshi’s mouth with his own. Akaya holds his jaw and his hip, putting his leg between Hiyoshi’s and holding it there while they make out.

“You’re not doing this just ‘cause I paid for your drinks, right?” Akaya asks suddenly.

Hiyoshi rolls his eyes, replying sharply, “I’m not a damn whore.”

“You look good enough to be one.”

“Shut up. You talk too much.”

Akaya slides his hand from Hiyoshi’s jaw up into his hair, pulling Hiyoshi’s head forward until they’re kissing again. There’s less tongue and it only lasts for a second. Akaya backs away, curling his fingers to tell Hiyoshi to follow as he dances back into the apartment. Akaya takes off his shirt slowly like a bad stripper. Hiyoshi laughs, high and out of character, blames the alcohol, and walks forward until Akaya takes him by the wrist.

Hiyoshi is turned around again when they reach the bedroom and the back of his knees hit the mattress, knocking him onto his back. Akaya stands at the edge of the bed between Hiyoshi’s legs and continues to slowly strip. Akaya is covered in well-defined muscles that curve and stretch as he dances, moving just right to show off his body. His pants hit the floor, then he jumps on top of Hiyoshi, straddling him and grinning.

Akaya’s lips are warm and rough on his neck. Hiyoshi thrusts his hips up, trying to get some friction against his erection, but Akaya doesn’t push back.

“Come on,” Hiyoshi groans. “Are you having problems getting it up or something? And I thought you had something to back up that cocky attitude from earlier.”

“I was going to be slow, but if that’s what you want…”

Suddenly, Akaya presses his groin into Hiyoshi’s hips. Hiyoshi gasps at the hard heat against his body, separated by thin layers of clothes that Hiyoshi wishes weren’t there. The bastard grins against Hiyoshi’s neck. He marks Hiyoshi where he has no hope of hiding it. Hiyoshi doesn’t care.

“Can I fuck you?” Akaya asks.

“Only if you do it hard."

“I can do that.”

Hiyoshi is lost in a daze of lips and hot skin. He’s stripped naked, thighs spread shamelessly wide with Akaya kneeling between them. Akaya presses into him with skilled fingers until Hiyoshi is cursing and riding back against his fingers with broken moans. When Akaya won’t let up, Hiyoshi threatens to kick the idiot upside his head. Akaya laughs at that, hooking his fingers to make Hiyoshi cry out.

Akaya does fuck him, hard, and it’s better than anything Hiyoshi’s had in months. The ribs on the condom and alcohol in his system make Hiyoshi moan loudly. Akaya stares at him with blown out eyes and Hiyoshi can’t return his intense gaze, like he wants to devour Hiyoshi alive. The hands on his hips are bruising strong, holding Hiyoshi still while he’s fucked into with animalistic abandon.

Akaya maneuvers Hiyoshi’s legs until they’re wrapped tightly around his waist. It’s deep, and rough, and so damn hot that Hiyoshi think he’s going to explode instead of come. He’s too close to his orgasm to care how he looks right now, rutting back against Akaya’s cock and head thrown back, throat exposed, chest flushed red. Akaya grabs his cock and Hiyoshi comes between them, clinging tightly to Akaya, moaning his name from deep in his chest.

“ _Fuck,_ don’t get so tight,” Akaya says.

“Oh my god, fuck you,” Hiyoshi replies.

“I am.”

When Akaya comes several minutes later, it’s with a loud moan. He kisses Hiyoshi’s jaw, then neck, leaving another mark close to the first. He holds the base of the condom when he pulls out, tying it off at the bottom and tossing it into a bin near the edge of the bed. Akaya flops down onto his back next to Hiyoshi, tilting his head to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Hiyoshi wants to kiss back, but he’s too fucked out to move. When’s the last time he got off from penetration? Akaya senses Hiyoshi’s lack of energy and props himself up to kiss Hiyoshi properly, but lazily, on the mouth before lying down next to him. He kisses with a lot of tongue, which Hiyoshi doesn’t particularly mind.

Akaya rubs a hand up and down Hiyoshi’s chest, ignoring the cum and smiling whenever Hiyoshi shivers from over sensation. The touch is teasing, sexual.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Akaya asks.

“I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.”

Akaya laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Akaya reaches down for the sheets, covering them both. He curls onto his side, face pressed to Hiyoshi’s arm, and they fall asleep like that.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi wakes up alone, stretching his limbs out in every direction and wishing his hips didn’t hurt as much as they do. It’s late morning, or early afternoon, he isn’t sure. He gets up, tugs on his briefs, and leaves to find the owner of the apartment. The apartment is small, smaller than the one he owns with Mukahi. There’s the bedroom, a door that probably leads to a bathroom, and a room that serves as a kitchen and living room.

Akaya is in the kitchen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and Hiyoshi stares at the dip at the bottom of his back between the cheeks of his ass and the way his back muscles strain tightly against his broad shoulders. Hiyoshi stops staring like some kind of pervert.

“Morning,” Akaya says, leaning against the counter to look at him. The front looks even better. “Breakfast?”

There’s a plate with four waffles and a cup of orange juice sitting on a dirty counter.

“You made these?” Hiyoshi asks.

“If by ‘made’ you mean putting them in the toaster, then yes, I made them.”

Hiyoshi doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes or smile. He does both. He sits on a stool at the kitchen counter in front of the plate and realizes there isn’t any silverware. Akaya tosses a plastic knife and spoon at him.

“I’d give you a fork, but I lost the last one. I need to get more.” Akaya pulls another four waffles out of the toaster, tossing them onto a plate and licking his burned fingers. He jumps up onto the counter, sitting cross-legged a few feet from Hiyoshi, who eats quietly.

What do you do in situations like this?

 _I should have run when he fell asleep last night,_ Hiyoshi thinks.

“You need a ride home?” Akaya asks. He picks up a waffle, burns himself, drops it, and then repeats until he’s able to get a bite. Akaya looks at him with those damn green eyes, still waiting for an answer.

“I have enough money for the bus,” Hiyoshi says.

“I’m not letting you blow money on a ride home when I can take you home for free.”

Hiyoshi finishes his last waffle, grumbling, “Fine, whatever.”

Hiyoshi gets up to find the rest of his clothes. His shirt is pressed inside of the sheets and his jeans are on the floor near the nightstand. Hiyoshi slips into the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up with a washcloth he finds near the sink, and dresses with the door locked. There’s a surprising amount of product in the bathroom—name brand hair gel and spray, fancy lotion that smells like apples, and expensive exotic soap that Hiyoshi uses to get the dry cum off his stomach.

Akaya changes into jeans and puts on a shirt before they leave together. As Hiyoshi straps on his helmet, he tells Akaya his address.

“Isn’t that near the campus?” Akaya asks. “You’re a student? Shit, how old are you?”

Hiyoshi rolls his eyes. “My roommate’s a grad student. I never even went to university, and I’m twenty-two. Do I look like jail bait to you?”

Akaya laughs easily, like this isn’t awkward at all. “It’s hard to tell when you have an ass like that.”

Hiyoshi wraps his arms around Akaya’s torso, trying to leave as much room between him and Akaya as possible. Compared to last night, Akaya is a significantly better driver. He goes slower, takes the turns a little easier, and doesn’t keep shifting around like he’s trying to grind into Hiyoshi’s dick. The drive doesn’t take as long as Hiyoshi expected with Akaya weaving in and out of traffic.

Akaya stops in front of Hiyoshi’s building and Hiyoshi climbs off. When he turns to hand back the helmet, Akaya grabs his wrist.

“Come ‘ere.”

He gently tugs on Hiyoshi’s wrist, making the man step closer to the motorcycle and its driver. Hiyoshi gets what Akaya wants and leans down, kissing him slowly, pressing his tongue against Akaya’s plump lower lip. Akaya hums into the kiss, then pulls back and takes the helmet from Hiyoshi.

“See you around, Wakashi.”

Hiyoshi goes inside.

 

* * *

Mukahi grins at him from the sofa when he walks in. Hiyoshi isn’t startled nor is he surprised when he sees Mukahi in his boxers and a sickly green facial mask, hair pushed back with a thick hairband. Apparently whatever the hell is on his face keeps his pores from clogging up after he cakes on makeup for his shows. Hiyoshi thinks he looks like a gay witch.

Mukahi is quick to say, “I’m digging the Got Laid Parade walk you’ve got going on.”

“Stop calling it that,” Hiyoshi says. There is no pride in what he did, only shame, not that that’s a bad thing. He feels dirty and a little used, but he doesn’t dislike it. He sits next to Mukahi on the sofa, glancing at the television to see what he’s watching.

“I want details,” Mukahi says. “Ohtori didn’t tell me who you left with.”

“Ohtori?”

“The bartender. So who was it? Was he hot?”

“He was nobody. Just some guy at the bar.”

“Come on. Was he good? Did you get off? Wakashi, don’t leave me hanging.”

“He was nobody. Just a one night stand.”

Hiyoshi gets up and goes into his room where Mukahi can’t bother him.

 

* * *

For the next three weeks, Hiyoshi goes on with his life. He wakes up and drags himself to work, drinking convenience store coffee to stay awake on the bus so he doesn’t miss his stop. He works at a little martial arts place where he teaches meditation, yoga, and advanced defense classes five days a week for crap pay. His co-workers and him go out for drinks a few times, but Hiyoshi never stays for more than a few drinks. His co-workers aren’t people he would consider his friends.

During his lunch break, he changes clothes and goes across the street to a small restaurant. He sits in the isolated booth in the back, reads a book he doesn’t think he’ll ever get to finish, and eats by himself. Sometimes Mukahi will join him if he doesn’t have class, but that rarely happens. Still, there’s something very calming about sitting in the back by himself and he doesn't mind it in the least.

He knows his life is boring, but there’s not much he can do to change it. The most exciting to happen to him all year had been sleeping with Akaya, which isn’t much in the grand scheme of things. People his age do much wilder, crazier things than sleep with the hottest man in the drag club. Still, even by Hiyoshi’s standards, sleeping with Akaya was not a big deal. Nothing would change if he hadn’t done it. Therefore, it wasn't a big deal.

He lives off of nasty tap water and cheap microwave ramen that tastes like plastic. His work pays his share of the rent and groceries, and he even has a little bit put away in his savings. He doesn’t know what he’s saving for, but Mukahi is always talking about financial security and shit, so Hiyoshi tries to save a little when he can.

It’s not the life he expected at all, but it’s the life he’s stuck with.

 

* * *

On Sunday night, Mukahi convinces Hiyoshi to come out to the club again. Hiyoshi goes when Mukahi promises to pay for his drinks and when he realizes that he may see Akaya again. Mukahi drives them in a crappy car and gets Hiyoshi in past the bouncer even though the club isn’t open yet.

“I gotta get ready for my shift,” Mukahi says. “Try and have fun!”

“Whatever.”

Mukahi leaves to dress up like a girl.

Hiyoshi drinks and talks with the bartender until people begin to come in, then the bartender has to work. Hiyoshi sits by himself, resting his weight on his arms on the bar, and paces himself so he doesn’t get wasted. By eight o’clock, people are beginning to dance on stage, but they’re all amateurs. An hour later, the regulars take the stage. Hiyoshi turns to watch when he hears Mukahi’s stage name called out.

He regrets watching. Mukahi is in a matching corset and skirt with thigh high fishnet stockings, and he’s wearing copious amounts of makeup. Seeing Mukahi split on stage and grab small bills with his teeth feels invasive. Mukahi has no shame and puts every hard-earned dollar towards paying off his massive pile of student loans, but it feels wrong anyways. Hiyoshi looks away when Mukahi begins to do acrobatics on the damn pole.

Twenty minutes later, Mukahi comes over and sits next to Hiyoshi at the bar. He’s still dressed as Moon, meaning half the people around them are staring, but Mukahi doesn’t seem to care. The club has strict no-touching rules and the bouncers hidden in the shadow deter any drunk clients.

This close, Hiyoshi can see the amount of effort that Mukahi puts into his stage makeup—red lipstick, powdery rogue, and fake eyelashes with winged eyeliner so perfect that it would make girls jealous.

“Do you see him?” Mukahi asks. “That’s why you came, isn’t it? For _him_.”

“No.” Hiyoshi doesn’t know why he sounds so bitter.

“Was he that good?”

“Shut up.”

This was stupid. He's stupid. Akaya is probably at some other bar picking up drunk guys and taking them home for a quick fuck. Hiyoshi figures he’s just one night in a chain of dozens who have fallen for his stupid pick up lines and his flirty smile.

Hiyoshi downs his drink. Mukahi waves over the bartender.

The music dims as a man with a rough voice introduces the next dancer, some guy named Devil. Hiyoshi looks up, curious, because that’s the strangest stage name he’s heard all night.

The stage darkens and the music slows to something more sensual as the stripper comes out. He walks onto the stage like he owns it, like he owns the whole damn club. Fake dark curly hair falls around his shoulders and frames his makeup-covered face. The man is wearing less than Mukahi does when coming out on stage, which means he’s practically naked. Thigh high, lacy black stockings are held up his built thighs by a garter that attaches to a lacy piece of fabric just above the waist of his underwear.

When Devil reaches the pole at the center of the stage, he grabs the pole with his right hand and flashes the crowd an easy smile. Hiyoshi can’t breathe.

“Oh my god,” Hiyoshi says.

“What?”

“That’s him. That’s the guy.”

Mukahi looks at the stage, then at Hiyoshi and laughs. “Holy fuck! You slept with a stripper! Not just any stripper, _Devil_.”

Suddenly, Akaya’s lower body is twisting up with the beat and his legs tangle effortlessly with the pole. Hiyoshi stares while the crowd roars its approval. He watches like he’s in a trance as Akaya dances up on stage. He’s movements are less acrobatic than Mukahi’s but more fun, less rigid and structured like Mukahi’s routine. When Akaya gets on his hands and knees to crawl seductively towards a man, letting the stranger stuff bills into his underwear, Hiyoshi can’t take his eyes away, even when Akaya leans forward to kiss the man sloppily on the cheek.

Akaya gets back on his feet flawlessly, like he’s not in six-inch heels. He stands with his back to the pole, teasing the crowd by playing with the hem of his underwear and the clips of his garter, like he may take them off. He doesn’t. He reaches up behind him, grabbing the pole over his head. Akaya smiles and Hiyoshi realizes that he’s looking at him.

Shit. Why is that turning him on?

Hiyoshi watches hotly as Akaya slides down, spreading his legs, staring straight at him the entire time like the entire show is for him. Hiyoshi barely remembers the rest of the routine after that.

The song ends too soon and Akaya leaves the stage.

“We’re going backstage,” Mukahi says suddenly. He downs his shot of tequila—when did the bartender come over?—and grabs Hiyoshi’s wrist.

“No,” Hiyoshi says.

“Come on, Wakashi, you have to go and see him. That was hot as _fuck_. I’m a little turned on and watching other dancers never turns me on.”

“No,” Hiyoshi repeats, more firm.

“I need to take my makeup off.”

“Don’t you have lap dances to do?”

“I’m taking the rest of the night off. Come with me while I take off my make up.”

“Do it without me.”

Mukahi is stronger than he looks—dancing on a pole will do that—and Hiyoshi is dragged backstage where Mukahi sits at his station. It’s a little desk covered in makeup containers with a large mirror next to a rack of scandalous clothes in a variety of dark and flamboyant colors. Mukahi sits on a stool, grabbing a washcloth and a container of makeup remover. Hiyoshi stands awkwardly, trying not to look for Akaya’s station while people run by, adjusting bras and underwear and makeup.

Suddenly, there’s a pair of large, warm hands on his shoulders and Hiyoshi remembers how Akaya had held him while he fucked him senseless. Akaya’s breath is hot against his ear when he whispers, “I got hard when I saw you. I thought I was going to pop out of my thong.”

Hiyoshi grins despite himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Mukahi watches them from his mirror.

Hiyoshi turns and Akaya’s face is naked but a little red, like he scrubbed off his makeup too quickly. His hair is matted slightly from the wig he had been wearing. He’s wearing his leather jacket and a pair of jeans like he had the night they first met. Even without the makeup and clothes, Akaya looks tempting, like he could take the stage again. Something about that makes Hiyoshi undeniably hot.

“Do you want to go get coffee?” Akaya asks, smiling easily.

“You’re paying,” Hiyoshi says.

“Okay.”

Akaya shoves his hand into the back of Hiyoshi’s pants, groping his ass and pressing the sides of their hips together. Hiyoshi doesn’t fight him.

“See you tomorrow,” Mukahi says, laughing.

 

* * *

Akaya drives them to a coffee shop near his apartment. They sit at a table by the window with warm mugs of decaf coffee, sharing an oversized chocolate scone that melts in his mouth, their feet knocking under the table. Akaya’s foot inches up with ill intentions, pressing into Hiyoshi’s thigh as he smiles. They don’t talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Akaya hums a song while he plays with his phone, waiting for Hiyoshi to finish.

When they get back to the motorcycle and Akaya tosses him the spare helmet like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Hiyoshi asks, “Where are we going?”

“My apartment.”

“You think that you can buy me coffee and I’ll let you fuck me?”

“That was the plan.”

Before they reach a bedroom, Akaya presses him against the door again and drops to his knees. He sucks at Hiyoshi through his underwear before pulling away the fabric and taking the head of his cock into his mouth. His lipstick stained lips stretch wide across Hiyoshi, who wraps his hand into Akaya’s hair, messing it up just because he can. He tests his limits by rolling his hips when Akaya takes him down his throat, but Akaya doesn’t stop, only looks up at him with slightly damp green eyes. Akaya moans and lets Hiyoshi fuck his mouth until he comes.

Hiyoshi gets hard again when Akaya shoves him onto the bed, kissing him with desperate swollen lips. Akaya fucks him from behind, one hand tangled painfully tight in his hair and the other on his cock. Hiyoshi rocks back against him, listens to the sound of their slick skin hitting. Akaya’s pace is unforgiving as he drives into him hard, and Hiyoshi hasn’t been fucked so hard in ages that he feels light headed from it all.

 

* * *

Hiyoshi stays the night again, legs wrapped around Akaya’s under cheap sheets. This time, when he wakes up, Akaya is still asleep next to him. He sits up and stretches, staring at the naked man next to him. Akaya makes little noises when he breathes and his hair is messier than it was last night. Hiyoshi plays with a loose curl idly.

“What are you doing?” Akaya asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Seeing if your hair is naturally curly."

Akaya smiles for some reason, turning to kiss Hiyoshi’s naked hip. Hiyoshi sighs contently. He runs a hand through Akaya’s hair when he continues to pepper kisses along his exposed skin.

“Breakfast?” Akaya suggests.

“Hmm. Toaster waffles?”

“Toaster pancakes.”

“Even better.”

Hiyoshi is the first to get up and out of the bed, stretching again once he's on his feet. He bends down to get his shirt, yelping when a hand swats his bare ass hard enough to sting. Akaya laughs and runs into the kitchen, picking up his underwear when he goes.

Hiyoshi sits at the counter and Akaya sits on the counter while they eat partially frozen blueberry pancakes.

“So what do you do?” Akaya asks. He sounds like a curious child, looks like one too. He has syrup on his chin. “Like, for work?”

“I work as a yoga instructor,” Hiyoshi says.

Akaya grins pervertedly. “Well, that explains how I can bend you in half.”

“I also teach martial arts.”

“I stand by that statement even if it means having my ass kicked.”

Hiyoshi rolls his eyes. There’s something about Akaya that makes this—whatever _this_ is—easy. Hiyoshi watches Akaya eat syrup-drenched pancakes with his bare hands. He can’t believe he’s had those things in his ass before.

“Do you do anything besides dance?” Hiyoshi asks.

“I pick up shifts at a coffee shop when business is slow. Most of my money comes from dancing, though.” Akaya smiles at him and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m pretty good, huh?”

“You’re alright.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t dancing last night.”

“Next time.”

Hiyoshi still doesn’t know if he wants there to be a next time.

Akaya drives him home on his motorcycle. Hiyoshi jumps off, returns the helmet, and runs inside before Akaya can smile and ask for a kiss.

 

* * *

A week later, Hiyoshi gets a text during his lunch break: _Wanna get dinner?_

Hiyoshi figures it’s Akaya. He responds: _How’d you get this number?_

_Moon gave it to me last night. It looked like you guys knew each other. So dinner?_

_Pick me up at seven._

 

* * *

Akaya takes him to a cheap twenty-four hour dinner with all day breakfast food and damn good milkshakes. Akaya drowns his food in syrup until there’s a puddle on the bottom of his plate. Hiyoshi watches the man eat like he’s starving, stuffing his cheeks full until they puff out like chipmunk cheeks. Hiyoshi smiles at the thought and refuses to tell Akaya what he’s thinking when he notices.

An hour later, they’re back at Akaya’s playing a shitty shooter RPG and tossing insults back and forth without thinking. Hiyoshi figures this is Akaya’s way of saying that they don’t need to have sex if he doesn’t want to. The problem is that sex works for them. They’re not friends or lovers, they’re fuck buddies. Sex is what they do.

On the last stretch of their mission, Hiyoshi drops his controller, moving to straddle Akaya’s lap. He places his hands firmly on Akaya’s chest and leans down, kissing and nipping at the warm skin on his neck. Akaya hums, happy at the change of pace, and grabs Hiyoshi just below his rips. Akaya’s hands are large enough to make Hiyoshi feel so small, even if he has more noticeable muscle than Akaya.

“Your hair tickles,” Akaya says suddenly, laughing.

“Yeah?” Hiyoshi shakes his head against Akaya’s neck, listening to the man laugh. Hiyoshi can’t help but smile into warm skin.

“Stop it.”

“Well, what should I do instead? Because this is pretty entertaining."

“Kiss me.”

Hiyoshi kisses Akaya on the lips, slower than he ever has before, more calculating, like this suddenly matters. He feels hot all over and wonders if Akaya feels the same. He rolls down against Akaya’s groin until he feels the familiar press of his hardening erection. When he breaks away, he drops to his knees under Akaya’s heated gaze, and makes quick work of Akaya’s belt.

“Wakashi,” he says, cradling Hiyoshi’s chin in his hand. “You don’t have to.”

Hiyoshi doesn’t care. He wants to do it.

Hiyoshi takes out Akaya’s cock, tonguing gently at the sides and the slit. Akaya has always been loud, moaning and whispering nonsense during the heat of it, and now is no exception. He makes small breathy noises as he runs a hand through Hiyoshi’s hair. Hiyoshi hollows his cheeks and slides down as far as he can, lapping at the underside of Akaya’s cock and head bobbing. The grip in his hair becomes tighter, more demanding, and Akaya’s voice becomes deep, rough.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Akaya says. “Just like that. You look so good on my cock.”

Hiyoshi flushes red, a mixture of embarrassment and pride driving his blood down to his own groin. He focuses on controlling his gag reflex and his teeth while listening to Akaya’s noises. He reaches up to the hand tangled in his hair and urges Akaya to hold on tighter. Hiyoshi gasps when the man complies, pulling on his hair and gently rolling his hips up.

“Can I come in your mouth?” Blunt like always.

Hiyoshi doesn’t waste time answering. He picks up his pace, letting Akaya guide his head up and down at the pace he wants. He knows Akaya’s about to come when he nearly tears Hiyoshi’s hair from its roots before coming hard halfway down Hiyoshi’s throat. Hiyoshi swallows then pulls off of his softening cock.

“Fuck,” Akaya laughs, rubbing his thumb over a stray drop of cum near Hiyoshi’s mouth. Hiyoshi turns his head to suck on Akaya’s thumb. “Come ‘ere.”

Hiyoshi sits on Akaya’s thighs, but is swiftly thrown onto his back down the length of the sofa. Akaya crawls up to him, and Hiyoshi thinks of how hot Akaya looks when crawling on stage, and he moans before Akaya eve reaches his pants. Akaya palms at the bulge in his jeans, smirking.

“Did sucking me off turn you on that much?” Akaya asks. “You’re already hard.”

“Shut up,” Hiyoshi snaps, flushed red.

He makes quick work of Hiyoshi’s belt, pants, and underwear. He pulls them down over the curve of his ass, then to his knees, and wraps his hand firmly around Hiyoshi’s needy erection. Akaya hovers over the length of Hiyoshi’s body, hand just right around Hiyoshi’s cock, and kisses him when he comes.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi spends most days bent in half. Unfortunately, it’s never as fun being bent in half at his job than it is at Akaya’s apartment. There are days where he’s sore in places he didn’t know he could be sore, but he pushes through the pain and instructs his classes because he needs the money for this month’s rent. He begins to wonder if the pain is worth it.

(He knows it is, but he feels better morally when he debates it.)

Hiyoshi goes to the same little restaurant he always does for lunch, but his usual spot is taken so he sits near the front next to a window. He pulls out his book, orders his normal meal, and begins to read.

He had just been served his food when someone slips into the chair across from him. Akaya smiles at him, looking completely innocent, but it’s the same smile he has when he fingers Hiyoshi and goes down on him. There’s nothing innocent about that.

“Are you stalking me?” Hiyoshi asks.

“Maybe.” Akaya grins for a few seconds, teasing, before saying, “No. There’s a music shop next door that I like to go to sometimes. I saw you from the window and thought I’d fuck with you a little.”

Is that what Hiyoshi is to Akaya? A plaything to fuck with? To _fuck_?

Hiyoshi finishes his sandwich in relative silence even though Akaya stays seated across from him. Akaya slides his foot up Hiyoshi’s calf, looking at him like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world, but doesn’t say a word.

 

* * *

 

The next time Hiyoshi sees him, it’s a week later at the club. Mukahi needs money for new textbooks for next semester and since he refuses to take Hiyoshi’s savings, Mukahi is picking up extra dance slots and doing lap dances to cover the cost.

“If I have to dance with twenty random strangers and get my ass groped, I’m going to need to be drunk,” Mukahi had said when he approached Hiyoshi in the apartment. “And I’m not driving drunk.”

Hiyoshi caves and drives Mukahi’s car to the club. They see Akaya’s motorcycle in the parking garage and Mukahi says that Devil is working tonight before Hiyoshi finds the guts to ask. Akaya has texted Hiyoshi twice since they ran into each other last week, and both were obvious booty calls.

_I got a new video game if you wanna play. You could spend the night._

_Wanna come over?_

Hiyoshi didn’t respond to either.

While Mukahi does his routine up at the pole, paying more attention than usual to the customers for extra bills and to get them to pay for his private dances, Hiyoshi sits at the bar. Everyone in the club is getting drunk, turned on, or picked up except for him. He drinks half-flat soda and is not approached by anyone.

When Mukahi begins to pull men into the back for private dances, Devil takes the stage. He’s in tall, high-heel boots, the hair of his wig pulled up into a ponytail, and he takes control of the entire room in an instant. Out of all of the people he could look at, all of the people who could stuff bills down his thong if he winked or smiled the right way, Akaya chooses to look at Hiyoshi. He looks flirty when he slowly licks his lips then laughs. He looks hot when he wraps his legs around the pole. He looks irresistible when he begins to take off his clothes. By the end of his routine, he’s left only in his boots and underwear, the rest of his clothes tossed towards the back of the stage to be collected later. Bills stick out of his lacy thong. Hiyoshi can’t find it in him to care.

Akaya takes the stage three more times in the next hour, collecting more and more bills, and becoming more and more scandalous each time. He comes out in different outfits each time. By the end of his last song, people are chanting for him to take off what’s left of his clothes. Akaya laughs, touching his chest seductively, and playfully says, “Should I?” He looks at Hiyoshi. Perverts toss money at him. Hiyoshi suddenly cares.

He shakes his head, short.

Akaya cocks his head to the side, licks his lips slowly, and looks at the crowd. He walks around the stage, bills sticking to the bottom of his heels, strutting with exaggerated swings of his hips. When his back is to the crowd, he rolls down the string of his underwear beneath the curve of his ass, but does not take it off. The crowd doesn’t care. Akaya laughs loud enough for Hiyoshi to hear, then disappears backstage.

Hiyoshi pretends he isn’t hard. He wishes his coke had rum in it, but Mukahi gave the bartender strict instructions not to give Hiyoshi anything remotely alcoholic tonight.

Akaya comes out in his street clothes without his makeup and wig, smiling. He whispers hotly into Hiyoshi’s ear and then they’re out the door.

They fuck in the backseat of Mukahi’s run down car. Hiyoshi rides Akaya as hard and fast as he can, relishing the way Akaya’s hands grip at his hips and the way he looks like he’s about to fall apart at the seams. Needing more, Hiyoshi arches his back and reaches down, grasping his own cock while Akaya watches, rapt with lust. Hiyoshi grinds down faster, hard, until his knees ache and thighs shake with effort, then Akaya begins to thrust up to meet his moving hips. Hiyoshi tosses his head back as Akaya fucks into him, meeting him movement for movement. 

Akaya finally comes with a loud moan that vibrates through Hiyoshi’s entire body, sending him over the edge. Hiyoshi shakes as he comes over his hand and onto Akaya’s chest, wondering why he’s still doing this. Why Akaya.

Hiyoshi collapses against Akaya’s chest, nosing his throat as he tries to catch his breath. Akaya is warm and naked under him, his hands rubbing up and down Hiyoshi's back.

“Fuck,” Hiyoshi breathes. “That was good.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? You were begging me not to stop.”

Akaya stops rubbing his back. Hiyoshi wishes he could see his face.

“Does it bother you?” Akaya asks, serious. “That I take off my clothes for a living? You looked really mad at the end.”

“That’s what this is about?” Hiyoshi pulls himself up to look Akaya in the eyes. He speaks without hesitation, “I don’t care if you strip, just don’t fucking tease me like that.”

Akaya looks hurt. “Tease you? You’re the one who didn’t respond to my texts.”

Hiyoshi doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything at all.

Hiyoshi feels Akaya’s hand in his hair, warm and familiar. He tilts his head into the touch, urging Akaya to continue, humming happily when he does. Their eyes meet and don’t move. If they weren’t in a car that smelled like sex, sweat, and old take out, Hiyoshi would be content to stay like that. 

“I should go,” Hiyoshi finally says.

“Wanna go back to my place?” Akaya asks, sounding hopeful.

“Can’t. I’m driving Moon home. He’s giving drunk lap dances.”

“Those are the worst.” Akaya sits up, bringing a contently fucked-out Hiyoshi with him and holding him in his lap. Hiyoshi wraps his arms around Akaya’s neck so he doesn’t fall backwards. Akaya says, “Next time, answer my texts. I like hanging out with you.”

Hiyoshi kisses him instead of promising.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi spends lazy weekends at Akaya’s playing videos, ordering take out, and fucking. Akaya sings loudly (and badly) in the shower, and likes to dance naked right above Hiyoshi when he refuses to get out of bed on rainy Sunday mornings. Somewhere between showering together and Akaya bringing him breakfast in bed, they cross the line. This isn’t just fucking anymore and it scares Hiyoshi more than anything. Still, they don’t stop.

The night before, they fucked three times before Hiyoshi rolled away to the other side of the bed, shaking with oversensitivity, and Akaya finally seemed sedated from his orgasm. In the morning, Hiyoshi showers while Akaya makes breakfast in the other room, then Akaya drives him back to his apartment. When Akaya parks the bike instead of just stopping, Hiyoshi stares at him.

“What are you doing?” Hiyoshi asks.

“Coming in with you,” Akaya says, not asking. “I want to see where you live.”

Hiyoshi can’t come up for a reason for him not to come in quick enough. Akaya hooks his helmet onto his bike then jogs up the stairs, looking back at Hiyoshi expectedly. Hiyoshi sighs, but gives in.

Once inside, Hiyoshi calls out, “I’m home.”

Mukahi is sitting at the dinning table with his books spread out in front of him. He doesn’t look up, just says, “Your new glasses came in the mail.”

“You wear glasses?” Akaya asks. “That’s kinda hot. Show ‘em to me next time.”

Mukahi looks up, startled at the sound of Akaya’s voice. “What the fuck?” Mukahi asks. He turns his eyes to Hiyoshi and smiles. “ _Oh_.”

“Shut up,” Hiyoshi says.

Akaya lets himself wander, running his hand along the length of the back of the sofa and gazing at the closed doors to their bedrooms. He looks around their shitty little apartment, taking in the grape juice stain on the sofa, the dirty dishes piled in the sink, and their mismatched dining chairs. The entire time, there is no judgment on his face. Hiyoshi feels relieved.

“Where do you sleep?” Akaya asks.

Hiyoshi shows him his room. It’s small and his desk is empty save a laptop, but there isn’t a single misplaced object or piece of dirty laundry. Akaya smiles as if he’s just happy seeing where Hiyoshi lives. Hiyoshi doesn’t get it, but he lets Akaya have his stupid moment.

“It fits you.”

“Of course it does,” Hiyoshi replies. “I live here.”

Akaya laughs. Hiyoshi dodges the hand that goes to playfully slap his ass. Akaya pouts, but doesn’t chase Hiyoshi like he usually does when they’re naked.

“I should get going," Akaya says.

“Yeah. Probably.”

They go back out into the main room and Mukahi was obviously waiting for them. The red head watches them curiously. When he realizes Akaya is leaving, he says, “See you later, Devil.”

“My name’s Kirihara, by the way.”

Mukahi shrugs, a physical manifestation of his mental _what the hell_ , and he says, “Mukahi.”

Akaya grins. “Cool. See you at work.”

Akaya kisses Hiyoshi chastely on the lips, whispers, “Call me,” and lets himself out. Hiyoshi watches him drive away on his motorcycle before turning around. Mukahi has a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up,” Hiyoshi grumbles again before locking himself in his room.

He nearly smoothers his face in his pillows _._ Kirihara Akaya. The name makes his chest heavy and he doesn’t know why.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi gets the text on his day off: _Let’s get lunch! My treat. I’ll be at your place in ten._

_Do I have a say in this?_

_No._

_Are you texting from your motorcycle?_

_I’m at a light. I’m not THAT stupid._

_I beg to differ._

Hiyoshi changes out of his sweatpants because Akaya always looks so good and if they’re going out in public together, Hiyoshi doesn’t want to look like a total slob. It’s not because he wants to impress him regardless of what Mukahi says when he walks out the door. Akaya is sitting on his bike like a bad idea in human form. Hiyoshi catches the helmet that’s tossed to him and smiles.

They eat in a sketchy shop hidden in an alley downtown. The place looks like an old Irish pub and is lighted by dainty string lights that are easy on the eyes. Akaya practically glows when he smiles and holds the door open for Hiyoshi.

It’s not their usual place—this place doesn’t look like there’s ever been a deep fryer or a pancake within a mile radius. They’re seated in a booth in the back near some important looking business people and a young couple. Hiyoshi feels embarrassingly underdressed. Stranger still, Akaya seems to know the owner because the head chef comes out to greet them personally and recommend what’s good. Akaya tells the chef to surprise them.

The proportions are small, the food looks delicate, and it’s the best thing Hiyoshi’s ever had in his life. When their dessert is brought out along with cups of coffee, Hiyoshi realizes that there’s no way Akaya can afford this. Hiyoshi wonders if they’ll have to dine and dash. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he’s done since meeting Akaya.

But when a waiter brings them a check, the chef tells them it’s on the house and makes Akaya promise to swing by for a beer now and again. Hiyoshi has no idea how the hell Akaya knows someone who deserves to work in a five-star restaurant, but he doesn’t fight it. He’s tempted to lick the dessert plate clean, but Akaya does before he can.

They walk together towards Akaya’s motorcycle. Winter is coming and the air feels colder, bitterer. They walk close to one another. Hiyoshi rubs his hands together while Akaya straddles his bike.

 “Do you want me to drop you off at your place?” Akaya asks.

“We’re not going back to yours?”

Hiyoshi assumed this was a booty call. He’s almost disappointed.

“Nah. I’ve got work soon. Just wanted to see you.”

It hits Hiyoshi like a ton of bricks.

“Are we dating?” Hiyoshi blurts.

“I thought that was obvious.”

Hiyoshi wants to scream. Instead he hides his panic, nods once, slow, and says, “I should go home. I have to do laundry before work tomorrow or else I’m doing yoga naked.”

“I’d like to see that.”

When Akaya drops him off, he grabs Hiyoshi by the wrist and waits for his kiss. Hiyoshi hides the blush on his cheeks, leans down, and kisses him good-bye. It’s gentle and completely different from the kisses they share in bed or when they fuck. Hiyoshi melts.

After Akaya drives off, Hiyoshi is left standing without a clue.

 

* * *

 

_We don’t have to date if you don’t want to. We can be whatever you want us to be._

_Okay._

 

* * *

 

Akaya meets Hiyoshi for lunch when he isn’t sleeping or picking up shifts at the coffee shop. They sit in the back of the restaurant Hiyoshi frequents in Hiyoshi’s favorite spot, something he never thought he would share with anyone, but it seems easy when he’s with Akaya. They split the bill, but Akaya pays for the overly sweet dessert they share. Hiyoshi watches as Akaya finishes off the brownie Sunday.

“Why do you strip?” Hiyoshi asks arbitrarily. He’s surprised by how quickly Akaya changes; he stops playing with Hiyoshi’s feet under the table and the spoon nearly falls from his mouth.

“At first it was for the money, but... I like it.” Akaya has the same look about him when he walks out onto a stage as Devil. He confidently adds, “And I’m good at it.”

“Most people would lie about why they do it.”

“You’re not the person who cares about that shit. I could be some rich CEO and you wouldn’t give a shit. That’s not you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

Akaya says it so firmly that Hiyoshi cannot argue. There’s a rough silence between them, but it doesn’t last long. Akaya continues to eat his Sunday, and goes back to playing footsies with him, and asks if he can do lunch tomorrow. Hiyoshi can. They make plans.

_Why is this so easy?_

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi calls in sick to work and spends the majority of the day in bed, blowing copious amounts of yellow snot into cheap tissues and coughing like a smoker. He stumbles out of bed at noon, wrapped in a blanket and a sweater that’s two sizes too large, and gets a cup of orange juice before retreating to his cocoon blanket. He feels delirious, sweaty, and gross.

When his phone rings, he nearly throws it across the room, but he doesn’t. He coughs deep from his lungs and feels like he’s dying.

“What?” he answers.

“You should come see me dance tonight. I have a new routine,” Akaya says. “And I was thinking that afterwards we could go back to my place and fuck.”

“You’re too blunt.”

“I could be more specific, if you want.”

“We’re not having phone sex.”

“Why not? I know you like it when I talk dirty, Wakashi.” Hiyoshi shivers from cold, not arousal, and coughs into his hand. “Wakashi?” Akaya repeats, sounding concerned.

“I can’t come see you dance unless you want to expose the entire city to the black plague.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not and it’s scaring me.”

Hiyoshi laughs, but it comes out ragged and uncomfortable. He groans, wiping his nose with a tissue, and says, “I have the flu. I just need to rest for a few days and it’ll go away. Mukahi’s taking care of me.”

They talk for a few more minutes and Hiyoshi thinks that’s all he’ll hear from Akaya for the next few days.

At two in the morning, Hiyoshi is awake and miserable, unable to sleep. He hears Mukahi come home from the club and gets up, figuring he should probably get some more water anyways. When he gets out to the kitchen he sees a bag on the table and Mukahi at the fridge.

“What’s in the bag?” Hiyoshi asks. "Did you pick up food?"

“Kirihara gave it to me at the club,” Mukahi says, head in the fridge while he looks for leftovers that are actually edible. “He said it was for you.”

Hiyoshi frowns, looking into the bag. There’s a dozen or so bottles and boxes of over the counter cold medications, a box of Hiyoshi’s favorite tea (which has to be luck because how the hell could he have known that?), and a folded up note that reads: _Feel better Wakashi!_

“He said he would’ve come here himself if he didn’t think you would kill him.” Hiyoshi smiles. Mukahi sits down at the table and looks at him, then says, “You like him, don’t you? Like, _seriously_ like him.”

Hiyoshi stops smiling. “Shut up.”

“You totally do.”

“No.”

“Wakashi and Devil sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—“

Hiyoshi goes back to his room to get his phone. He needs to thank Akaya for the medicine.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi recovers from his bout of flu within three days but is working after two. Winter means they need to use the space heater, which means their utilities bill will be higher, and both Hiyoshi and Mukahi work more hours to compensate. Mukahi regularly does lap dances, coming back late and smelling like twenty different colognes. Hiyoshi grudges the work, but his lunches and nights spent with Akaya erase any and all negative thoughts. Hiyoshi finds himself sitting at the bar on Friday night while Akaya dances on stage. 

Akaya slowly lowers himself from the pole, smoothly transitioning into a dominant walk, hips swaying to the beat like they’re made of liquid. He runs his hands through his longhaired wig, rolling his shoulders and looking at Hiyoshi like they’re alone in his bedroom. Akaya bends over, ass in the air, lifting a customer’s chin up with his index finger as he sings along to the slow, sensual beat. When he comes back up, more bills in his underwear, he smiles at Hiyoshi.    

After Akaya’s shift at the club, they stumble through Akaya’s apartment to the bedroom. Hiyoshi is stripped out of his clothes; large hands touch and claw at his heated skin while eager lips assault his mouth and neck. Hiyoshi ruts up against Akaya, so close to being desperate that he may start begging.

“Akaya,” Hiyoshi gasps. “I had to watch you dance all night. Come on.”

Instead of reaching for the condom and fucking him senseless, Akaya flips Hiyoshi onto his stomach. Hiyoshi rests his cheek against a pillow, suffocated by Akaya’s scent, breathing deeply while he waits for Akaya. Large hands grab his hips, pulling him up to his knees. Hiyoshi gasps when his cheeks are spread and Akaya presses his tongue against him and starts to eat him out. Hiyoshi jerks away, but a hand on his hip stops him and reels him back.

“Stop, it’s embarrassing,” Hiyoshi says. Akaya’s tongue presses harder. “Fuck. _Akaya_.”

He can feel Akaya smile, and then he dips his tongue inside to taste him, tease him, and Hiyoshi closes his eyes and lets it happen. He digs his hand into the bedding while Akaya swirls his tongue. Hiyoshi pushes back against his face, moaning. It’s too hot, too close, too much. It feels far too good. Hiyoshi comes, hot flush spreading down his back and thighs, his entire body shaking when Akaya comes up to kiss the back of his neck.

 

* * *

 

_Happy birthday Wakashi!_

_Who the fuck told you it was my birthday?_

_Moon. I have work tonight but can you meet me at my place after? I’ll leave a spare key in the potted plant by the elevator._

 

* * *

 

Mukahi drops Hiyoshi off at Akaya’s apartment before going to work. He raids Akaya’s fridge for the leftovers he had forgotten to take with him earlier in the week. He sits on the sofa, eating and watching bad television, while he waits for Akaya to come home. Hiyoshi ignores the part of his brain telling him that he should be disturbed by how comfortable he feels at Akaya’s.

When Akaya comes in through the front door, Hiyoshi pretends not to hear him so Akaya can sneak up behind him and surprise him with a kiss. Akaya grins when he hovers over Hiyoshi like Spiderman and Hiyoshi smiles too.

“You have a bit of lipstick left,” Hiyoshi says.

“Yeah. I lost my stick of bright red so I had to borrow Trickster’s, but he didn’t tell me that it sticks unless you put on a base. I did everything short of cutting off my lips to get the damn stuff off.” Akaya pauses and plays with Hiyoshi’s hair. “Does it bother you?”

“Depends. If I said it was hot, would you hold it against me?”

“Only in bed.”

Hiyoshi smiles. Akaya kisses him again, quicker than before, and disappears without another word. Hiyoshi turns off the television. The dancer returns quickly, jumping onto the sofa to sit next to Hiyoshi, and shoves a blue gift bag into his lap.

“Akaya—“

“I know that I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Happy birthday!”

Hiyoshi pushes back a few layers of tissue paper and takes out a thick hardcover book. It’s the same as a book that’s hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk, only nicer. His copy is falling apart at the spine and is so faded that it’s barely readable. Hiyoshi opens the cover and sees the author’s signature on the copyright page.

Akaya smiles, obviously pleased with Hiyoshi’s silence, and says, “I have a friend who works in publishing and he knows the author’s editor. I got him to get you a signed copy. Mukahi said this was your favorite book. Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Great!” Akaya jumps up, heading towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna order pizza. Or do you want take out? It’s up to you.”

That night, they don’t have sex. Instead, they sleep together, the heat of their bodies mingling under the sheets.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi is half drunk when Akaya comes up to the bar in his street clothes, makeup rubbed off and glitter on his fingertips. Hiyoshi knows because some nights he’ll find it on his body wherever Akaya touches him. Akaya leans in close to Hiyoshi, body pressed against his where it really matters, and whispers the right string of words to make Hiyoshi’s entire body flush with heat.

Akaya kisses below his ear. “Come home with me tonight?” 

The answer is yes, a thousand times over. Instead of saying that, Hiyoshi nods.  

Akaya takes him to bed, spreading him out with his hands, mouth, fingers, and low spoken words that make Hiyoshi feel utterly shameless. He takes his time opening Hiyoshi up before fucking into him, holding his legs open and making it difficult for Hiyoshi to move, to think. Every maddening slow movement of Akaya’s hips drives Hiyoshi closer and closer, but it’s not enough.

“Come on, Akaya,” Hiyoshi urges. “Fuck me like you always do, like you promised you would in the club.”

Akaya wraps an arm around Hiyoshi’s torso and brings him up so they’re sitting, Hiyoshi in his lap. Their arms wrap around one another but the pace does not quicken. Akaya kisses him slowly, tongue pressing into Hiyoshi’s mouth gently, like the rolls of his hips that cause Hiyoshi to burn from the inside out. It’s still not enough. Nothing will ever be enough, not with the way things are now.

Hiyoshi comes, gasping Akaya’s name, clinging to him and dragging his lips against his in a slow kiss. Akaya smiles and repeats his name over and over, like it’s the only thing keeping him together, “ _Wakashi_.”

 

* * *

 

In the afterglow, before the soreness and exhaustion sets in, Hiyoshi turns on his side to look at Akaya’s naked body. His skin is flushed red and covered in Hiyoshi’s orgasm. He looks so fucked out, pupils blown wide and hair tousled, and so inexplicably happy that it makes it hard for Hiyoshi to breathe.

“Why’re you staring at me?” Akaya asks, smiling. He turns onto his side, mimicking Hiyoshi, and curls towards Hiyoshi like a small cat. Fingers gently curl against Hiyoshi’s sternum and soft, hot breath hits his skin. Hiyoshi swears he can feel Akaya’s eyelashes.

“Wakashi?” Akaya says, quiet. “Is everything okay? You’re acting weird.”

“I want to try this, for real.” Hiyoshi feels like his lungs are going to burst. His heart is going a mile a minute and it’s still not fast enough to catch up with his feelings for the man in front of him. Hiyoshi clarifies, “Us, or whatever _this_ is. I want it. Do you?”

Akaya smiles easily. Hiyoshi can’t see it, but he knows it’s there. He feels it against his skin and remembers it as well as he remembers his own name.

“I thought that was obvious.”


End file.
